Company of a Stranger
by Phinoa
Summary: "I'm not predictable." – "Yes, you are." When Hermione sets off to visit the biggest wizarding library in Europe all on her own, she doesn't expect to run into Draco. / / Light holiday read. EWE. Complete.
1. A Stranger

**A/N: Feeling inspired whilst indeed travelling alone, I came up with this little Dramione piece. It's not much, but it's supposed to be a light, enjoyable read without any drama (or actual plot, mind you). It's rated M for part two, which has lots of lemons. If you prefer to not read smut, you can just skip it and read only the parts one and three – the story should still make sense that way.**

 **I have not forgotten Faceless, but I can't do it any justice right now, so I thought the least I can give you is this.**

 **Alpha- and beta-thanks go out to** **MalfoysMuggleMrs.** **  
**

 **Enjoy! Phinoa**

* * *

 **Company of a Stranger**  
 _A short story about a more or less serendipitous encounter_

One of the beautiful things about travelling alone is that the memories made are not tainted by anyone else; no family drama, no crumbling relationship weighing them down, no ex in the photos you wish weren't there. The downside of course being, there is no one to make new memories with – no one but yourself and the occasional stranger that will never again play an important role in your life. But isn't that ever so exciting?

Hermione Granger sighed wistfully, still glad to have decided to go on holiday all by herself. Not that Harry or Ron (or anyone, really) would have actually wanted to tag along – the biggest wizarding library in Europe must have been, at least for her two best friends, the dullest destination imaginable.

She looked at her small, beaded bag and smiled at the thought of all the hassle Muggles had to endure in order to go places:

Arriving at the airport hours before the actual take-off; waiting there forever because of a delayed or cancelled flight; passing the time with overpriced sandwiches; window-shopping for clothing you could never afford. Not to mention, feeling like a criminal going through customs. Then, watching the onboard safety measures ballet which hopefully you won't ever have to utilise because you haven't paid any attention to the instructions on how to use your life vest – apart from knowing that it's stored under your seat.

But most importantly, Hermione was spared holding onto her armrests while her guts squirm and heart plummets as the aircraft ascends into the sky. Hermione never liked flying – neither on a plane nor a broom or a Thestral. Granted, Apparition, Floo travel, or Portkeys were no less sickness-inducing, however, they pass by much more quickly and don't require you being forty thousand feet above sea-level.

No, Hermione definitely preferred travelling the magical way. One look at the clock told her that the Portkey was about to activate any moment now. She pressed one finger onto the old bucket and counted the seconds.

Four, three, two, one … The familiar sensation kicked in as invisible forces exerted pressure from all sides, as if a current pulled you under water, stealing your breath and whirling you around until you can no longer tell up from down. It was over as quickly as it started, and Hermione found herself standing in the middle of a circular room with a dome for a ceiling.

'Herzlich Willkommen,' said the witch in front of her. Hermione pulled a face which she hoped looked somewhat apologetic and imparted that she didn't speak the language very well.

'Herzlish …' she started sheepishly, and the witch smiled.

'English?' she offered. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

'Yes please.'

'Welcome to Aachen,' the woman continued, sounding like she was about to make a speech which she had given innumerable times before. She had a thick, German accent. 'We hope you haf a pleasant stay. You will fint all ze information you neet here'– she conjured a brochure which Hermione accepted with a whispered thanks –'as well as in all of our tourist information centres in ze entire country. Haf you booked your accommodation yet?'

Hermione assured she had and again thanked her, the witch leading her to one of the fireplaces. There was quite a long queue; an entire class from Beauxbatons – judging from the babbling in quick French and their light blue uniforms – waiting to Floo to their next destination.

Hermione didn't mind. She wasn't in a hurry, after all. That's another marvel of travelling: time seems less important. Not that it's less meaningful, oh no. There just isn't any wasting of it. Waiting, pausing, observing, it's all part of the experience. Again, especially whilst travelling alone – no one standing beside you and drowning you in their fidgety impatience and "why does it take so bloody long to get there". But that's the point – the getting there itself and treasuring every single moment of it.

As soon as she entered her room for the week, however, the weight of loneliness overcame her; it dragged her down, and for a second, she couldn't breathe. Luckily, only for a second, as her healthy common sense spoke up. Hermione composed herself, shaking off the unwelcome self-pity and taking a couple of deep breaths.

 _Everything is fine_ , she said to herself. Odd – sometimes all it took was a bit of reassurance on your own behalf. It was as if she'd had to reach that point once – just this once – so that she could move on and enjoy every minute of her holiday.

After a little sightseeing around the city and spending quite a while admiring Charlemagne's surprisingly unadorned throne (little did Muggles know that the famous Emperor came from a line of wizards) Hermione headed for her actual destination.

The entrance to the library – an old, dusty book shop that had a sign hanging in the window saying something along the lines of "out of business" (or so Hermione assumed) – required the visitors to cite a line from any magical piece of writing that ever was before the door would turn into a passageway.

'Due to an Apparition Jinx, first laid upon the castle after the mass-splinching of 1154 (cf. chapter 75), it is impossible to Apparate or Disapparate in and out of Hogwarts,' Hermione whispered against the door. There was a light draft now as if the shop were trying to suck her in, and Hermione – after a quick glance past her shoulder to check for any Muggle bystanders – walked right through the glass.

Her mouth parted slightly as she stared up to the archway in front of her, big letters chiselled in stone reading "Bibliotheca Ars Magica Europaea". The sight was sufficiently overwhelming. Hermione was flooded with mind-blowing impressions; from the vast entrance hall and the reception where she was asked to give up her wand and given instructions about proper book-handling (not that Hermione would ever treat a book with anything but respect), to the actual library – a hall so high Hermione couldn't make out the ceiling. There were moving spiral staircases everywhere, leading to the extensive multitude of shelves holding the largest collection of books Hermione had ever seen.

Where to start? She pulled out a list with must-read books she had made before her journey – Godric forbid Hermione come unprepared to the second biggest library in the whole world (the biggest and oldest being in former Mesopotamia). She eventually made her way toward the section labelled "Aachen Exclusives", relieved to see that, in the library itself, they offered different languages to help get one's bearings.

Hermione quickly acknowledged that she could spend an entire lifetime in this place. She soaked up every sentence, every illustration, taking both notes and her time because she knew she wouldn't be able to come back quite as soon. She had her own bookshop to take care of, after all. Perhaps she should try to get her hands on one of these to sell to the highest bidder …

'Be careful not to drool over the pages, Granger, you probably won't be able to afford the replacement,' sneered a familiar voice. A very, _very_ familiar voice. Hermione pulled a face and looked up.

 _Bloody fantastic._

Draco Malfoy stood some metres away, leaning against one of the shelves, arms crossed. A stupid smirk was plastered across his stupid, handsome face. Hang on, handsome? When in Godric's name did she begin to think of Draco Malfoy as handsome?

 _Probably ever since he started popping into your shop every now and then_ , whispered the voice in her head, ever eager to give the correct answer.

'What are you doing here, Malfoy?' Hermione pressed through clenched teeth, careful to not allow the volume of her voice rise above whisper-level.

'I could ask you the same question, Granger.' He pushed himself off the shelf and took a couple of lazy steps towards her. 'Then again, I should've known I'd find you here. This must be your …' he trailed off, a mischievous glint in his eye.

'My what, Malfoy?'

'Nevermind.'

Hermione fumed inwardly. She couldn't stand it when people started a sentence but refused to finish it; it was like reading a book and discovering that the final pages were missing. She squinted at him.

 _Concentrate_ …

'Are you seriously trying to penetrate my mind?' Draco said incredulously before letting out a laugh that – for some reason – sent shivers down Hermione's spine. 'Oh, Granger, don't even bother, you won't succeed.'

Hermione stifled the profanities that threatened to roll off her tongue. He was right; his mind was blocked completely. She couldn't get through to a single thought.

'Tell me then,' she said, her curiosity slowly but surely gnawing her patience away. 'Unless it was just something to insult me, then, if you please, spare me.'

Draco clicked his tongue. 'An insult? No … I wouldn't stoop that low, now would I?'

'Oh please, you have plenty of times before. How convenient for you to forget.'

'I most certainly did not forget,' he said, pulling up a chair and seating himself across from the table she currently occupied.

'I cannot recall,' began Hermione hotly, though she quickly realised she'd raised her voice after all, thus continuing in a whisper, 'I cannot recall inviting you to join me.'

'I don't need your permission, Granger, this is a public space. Alright, let's see … what do we have here?' Draco brazenly snagged the scroll out of her hands and perused its contents. '"Blood magic in Aztec culture – beliefs, purposes, and practices" … Granger, this is … _dark_.'

Hermione blinked a few times in astonishment. 'You can read that?'

'I took Ancient Runes, too, you know.'

'Yes, but,' she spluttered, 'this is a rare Galician variant, our curriculum didn't cover that.'

'So?' Draco cocked an eyebrow and put back the scroll with a delicacy she hadn't expected. 'You underestimate me. I just blocked your, I must admit, unexpected and not too meagre attempt at entering my mind. Surely I am capable of translating a few old runes on the fly.'

Hermione was rendered speechless, and she scolded herself for not being able to say something witty in return. She just sat there, staring at him and his stupid, unblinking eyes. What was he doing here anyway?

'I'm here on business, if that's what you're wondering,' he said suddenly.

'Don't tell me you're a Legilimens, too,' said Hermione, getting more and more aggravated.

'No, just a people person.'

At that, Hermione snorted indignantly.

'What?'

'You're a right charmer, sure.'

'You'd be surprised.' Hermione gulped involuntarily at his change of inflection as well as the cocky smile that was tugging at his lips. 'If it's charming you want … have coffee with me.'

'Um …' she made, dumbfounded. Heat rushed to her face, and she turned away in a futile attempt to hide it.

'Articulation is key, Granger,' he drawled, then added, accentuating each syllable, 'So people can understand you.'

'Oh, just shut it,' she hissed then but failed to actually feel annoyed. In fact, she rather enjoyed their repartee. So, why not have coffee with him? Apart from his sassiness, Draco had little in common with the messed up teenager from many years ago. Besides, she hadn't been on a date since … in a while.

'C'mon, Granger, I don't have all day. Well, I do, but still – hurry up.'

'Alright, I'll have coffee with you.'

'Excellent,' said Draco, standing up and looking at her expectantly.

'Now?'

'Of course now. There's this café I've been meaning to check out. I think it'll meet your taste.'

He was right – it did. The little café, situated in Aachen's old town, had a variety of porcelain coffee pots hanging from the ceiling, and its walls were covered entirely in bookshelves.

'So … you're telling me that, after being surrounded by books all day, the one place you choose to spend your holiday at … is a library.'

'More or less, yeah,' said Hermione sheepishly while stirring her cup of coffee; a motion she had been doing for far too long now; she didn't even add sugar.

'Well, it suits you,' he commented before taking a sip from his own drink. 'You're quite predictable.'

'Excuse me?'

'Nothing to get upset over, Granger,' chuckled Draco. Stupid, bloody charming chuckle. 'I rather like it. You're not bending to anyone else's expectations. After the war, everyone wanted you to go big, you see; _change the world_. But instead, you bought an old bookshop.'

'Predictable is not a compliment.'

'So? Nor is it an insult. It doesn't have to be anything. Just take things the way they are, stop reading too much into them.'

Then, he winked. He just winked at her. What was she supposed to read into _that_? Oh, she'd show him predictable, alright!

And without wasting a second thought on it, she winked back.

'Interesting,' said Draco, never breaking eye-contact. 'But you don't have to try so hard, you know. Like I said, predictable is not a bad thing.'

'Oh, sod it,' Hermione groaned, raising her hands. 'I give up. Fancy some cake?'

And so they had cake. Hermione particularly liked the one called "Bienenstich" – almond and custard goodness that had the calories practically jumping out at you. In between bites, she stole a glance at Draco. He had his eyes closed, savouring another local treat. He looked rather … _What, Hermione? Stop pining!_

'You've always had a sweet tooth,' she remarked with a smile, upon which Draco looked up questioningly. 'You're not the only one who's good at observing people, you know. I remember your owl bringing you tons of sweets back in school, almost every week.' Draco made a face of comprehension, then continued to eat his cake. 'But how you didn't swell like a balloon is still a mystery to me.'

Draco finished his bite before answering, 'Good genes. And lots of exercise.'

'Do you still play Quidditch?'

'Occasionally. Although I have developed quite a liking for football.'

Hermione's fork came to a halt halfway between the plate and her mouth.

'No way,' she said. 'You're messing with me.'

'I am not,' he grinned. 'It's simple. Just one ball, two goals, 90 minutes … fantastic if you wish to get your mind off things.'

'What things?'

'Oh, this and that. Work, mostly. The public. Just things, really, and what have you.'

Hermione got the sudden impression that they had broached a topic he did not fancy talking about.

'So, where are you playing football?'

'I found this team in Bath who are in the local pub league. And guess what: Dean Thomas is team captain.'

Hermione had to remind herself to keep her jaw shut. Draco Malfoy was quite the opposite of predictable.

'He wasn't too keen on my joining them at first … but Dean's definitely one for burying the hatchet over a beer, and so we did. Apparently, I make for a good centre-back.'

Hermione cleared her throat while trying to pick up what was left of her cool. Somehow, Draco made her feel like she was fourteen again. And now, she couldn't help but picture him in a football jersey. It was definitely time to change the topic.

'What business brings you here then?' she enquired.

'The library needs new fundings,' he replied between sips of cappuccino; Hermione couldn't help but follow the movement of his tongue as it darted out to collect the froth off his upper lip. 'I thought I'd visit the place and see whether or not I would like to become a benefactor.'

'What would you get out of it?'

'Not much … mainly, my name on some random plaque somewhere in the entrance hall, or – more likely – on a bench, I don't know. Oh, and – how could I forget – a lifetime honorary membership with unlimited access to the library as well as the restricted archives.'

'Transferable?' Hermione enquired hopefully.

'Oh, Granger … sadly, no,' said Draco with a put-on sigh.

'Too bad – it was hard enough obtaining a pass for the week! It was rather pricey, too. I can't imagine how costly a lifetime membership would be …'

'You know, I could always bring somebody along.'

For the second time that day, Hermione blushed. She could tell from the way her skin prickled. This was too odd … or was it? Draco was quite suave – admittedly, still putting the sly in Slytherin – but overall witty and sophisticated. And surprisingly nice. Even more surprising was his apparent interest in her; Hermione was neither blind nor thick enough not to realise that.

'Whom do you have in mind?' she said with an air of ostensible casualty.

'Oh, you know'– Draco tapped his chin as though intensely pondering –'someone with a vague interest in literature, probably. The swotty kind.'

'So … definitely not Ron.'

Draco snorted. 'Most definitely not.'

He remained quiet for a while, and Hermione began to feel nervous. A thousand questions popped into her head all at once: would this lead anywhere? If so, where exactly? Would it mean anything? Would she want it to mean something? What would her friends say? Would that even matter after all those years?

Hermione failed to stifle a groan, an expression of her frustration with the lack of answers.

'What's wrong?' asked Draco, once again levelling his gaze with hers. Godric, his eyes … _they are just grey, Hermione!_

'Nothing, it's just – you … and I – here – ugh.' She let her face fall into her hands.

'I see,' he said, voice layered with disappointment. 'Look, I know this is bordering mental, but here we are. Who would have thought? Well … I'm just glad you joined me for coffee. But I wouldn't want you to feel awkward, so … I'll leave you to your thoughts.'

'What?' Hermione looked up at the blond, who was already in the middle of leaving, putting a Muggle banknote on the table – way too much for what they'd had.

'No, really, it's fine … Hermione. See you around.'

With that, he turned on his heels and made towards the exit.

'Draco, wait!' said Hermione, getting up and hastily collecting her belongings before following him outside. As soon as she was out the door, she grabbed him by the arm. He turned around, wearing a devilish smile, and Hermione realised immediately what it meant.

'Oh, you …' she fumed, 'you _Slytherin_ you!'

'Is that supposed to insult me?' He raised an eyebrow. 'I just wanted to see what would happen, is all.'

'Let me guess – you knew I would come.'

Draco took a step towards her, which made Hermione's heart misbehave – it wasn't supposed to beat faster!

'Well, I didn't _know_ for sure, but I gambled, and the odds turned out in my favour,' he smirked, tucking a strand of her unruly hair behind her ear – common code for "I want to kiss you". Hermione's feet (like the rest of her body) had decided to work against her by stepping ever closer. 'Like I said,' he added. 'Predictable.'

'I'm not predictable,' she breathed against his lips.

'Yes, you are.'

And with that, he closed the remaining distance, sealing her lips with a remarkable kiss, and Hermione's world began to spin. Had kisses ever felt this way? This mind-blowing, this … words failed her. She only leaned into him further, revelled in the way he had his hand buried in her hair, the texture of his lips and his enticing smell, his warm touch – Merlin's beard, was anything about this man not perfect?

When he withdrew after an unidentifiable amount of time, Hermione found herself in a post-snogging stupor.

'Been waiting to do that for quite a while now,' he said softly. His hair – which she had ruffled, apparently – looked ever so appealing, and his cheeks were tinged with a light pink hue. Good to know she wasn't the only besotted one.

'You have?' was all she got out.

'Oh yeah.' Draco smiled at her. 'London is just so … full of eyes. I prefer the company of strangers.'

'I'm not a stranger.'

He chuckled. 'It rhymes with you, that counts – listen, I've got to run … boring business supper. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?'

'How long will you be staying?' she called after him, and Draco backpedalled slowly, his sweet smile turning into a mischievous grin that made Hermione's heart flutter.

'However long you like.'


	2. A Man

**A/N: Lots of lemons coming up! You've been warned.**

* * *

'There you are – _interesting_ choice – mind if I join you?'

Draco didn't wait for an answer to sit down on the bench next to her. Hermione was tempted to ask where he'd been, but reminded herself that they hadn't even arranged a time. A glance at her watch told her that it was already past four in the afternoon; what with being fully engrossed in her reading, she hadn't noticed.

'Hi,' she whispered before her lips were captured by his. The second time was just as breathtaking as the first. Hermione gave into the kiss for a bit till she gently put her hands on his chest, saying, 'Draco … we're in a library.'

'So? Where does it say you can't snog in a library?'

'I think they mention it in the rules of the house,' said Hermione.

'You've actually read them?' Draco chuckled. 'Well, if it is against the rules, doesn't that make it even more exciting?'

Something about his tone made Hermione shiver. She looked left and right; apparently, no one else cared to read about the Magigeology of the Baltics.

'How was your meeting?' she asked in an attempt to distract herself from the way he looked at her – as if she were the most desirable thing in the world.

'Boring, like I knew it would be,' he said. After a while, he added, 'Merlin, you're …'

'What?'

'Nothing.' He stroked her cheek and leant in for another kiss. How was it even legal to taste that good?

'I've – um – I've been wondering …' said Hermione as soon as they were once again disentangled. 'You said yesterday that you'd been wanting to … kiss me for a while. May I ask … why? And since when?'

'You can't leave anything unanswered, can you?' He kept looking at her endearingly. 'If you must know … well, it's hard to say. In all seriousness, for a year, maybe –'

'A _year_?'

'But technically,' he continued, unfazed by her interruption, 'for much longer than that – hey, don't forget to blink.'

Hermione complied and blinked a few times in a row.

'Why?' she breathed.

'Do I really need to lay it out for you? Oh, Granger … we're both adults. Like I said yesterday, take it as it is.'

 _"Much longer than that."_

'Are you saying, back when I was seeing Eric –'

'Eric Petersen, Muggle, engineering student, about this tall … yeah, I remember him. And yes.'

Hermione was at a complete and utter loss for words. She and Eric had split up over a year ago.

 _Oh …_

'Why have you never said anything?' she asked.

'For one, I didn't want to mess it up,' he answered. He was taking her hand in his now, drawing circles onto its back with his thumb. 'I knew approaching you outright and just after your break-up wouldn't work. So I thought I'd just be present. Make you get used to the idea of me just being around. When I saw your note in the window that you were closing up for your holiday, I finally saw my chance.'

'You've planned this,' Hermione noted. She tried to sound accusing, yet couldn't help but be impressed. And flattered; swept away in the bittersweet.

'Guilty,' he chuckled. 'But it worked, didn't it?'

'Yes …'

'Then it was worth the wait.'

He kissed her again, only this time, it was more fervent. Hermione didn't need to think about it twice. Snogging Draco Malfoy just felt so _right_. His plan had indeed proven successful. Her subconscious had long accepted that she found him attractive; perhaps more than just that. To realise that, it only took a foreign country and their zweisamkeit – the intimacy of being alone together.

'You know what else I have been wanting to do?' he breathed against her lips. Hermione hummed, indicating for him to continue. What he said then stunned her. 'I want to see you unravel.'

The directness of his advances made Hermione feel _very_ hot in a _very_ short time.

'You heard me,' he said as she sat there, frozen in place. His signature smirk curled his lips upwards. 'What do you say? Want to bend the rules a little further?'

'Draco …'

'Shh … you wouldn't want anyone to hear you, would you?' His fingers first brushed her breasts, then wandered lower and lower …

'What do you say?' he iterated, his hand now hovering over the button of her jeans. Hermione nodded and felt the button flick open instantly. Now it was she who kissed him feverishly; a desire she hadn't realised was there suddenly demanding action.

'Oh, and before I forget,' he purred in between the attacks on his mouth, 'Yesterday … I was going to say the library must be your definition of a _wet dream_.' Hermione swallowed hard. 'Only I didn't think it appropriate to finish that thought out loud. Now, however'– she felt his hand slide over her covered mound, it radiating heat –'it's rather accurate, don't you agree?'

He didn't even give her time to react, seeing as his fingers kept exerting pressure onto her already damp knickers, thus disabling any possible retort she may have otherwise given. Draco teased her, played with her as far as the restricted space of the inside of her jeans allowed, without actually touching her bare.

'Quiet now,' he whispered – Hermione hadn't realised she'd said anything, but clearly, all reasonability had already failed her.

'What if –'

'No one's going to get _that_ lost, Hermione,' he said. 'Magigeology of the Baltics, _please_. Now … I should give you a heads-up for this …'

And he lifted the hem of her knickers, sliding his hand underneath and then …

 _Sweet Merlin._

How could one finger make her feel so many things at once? He ran it across her slick folds, with so little pressure and tempo that every movement felt a hundred times more purposeful, more intense. Hermione had to bite her lip as to not moan – to no avail.

'Draco,' she mewled, but he shut her up with a searing kiss, the double sensation causing sparks to light up within every cell of her body. She wanted to give something back, something to make him feel the same way. But when she reached for him underneath the table, he gently pushed her hand away.

'No … don't you worry about that,' he said softly, but decidedly. 'Relax, stop thinking.'

Oh, but think, she did. Only that her thoughts focused on the here and the now; on Draco Malfoy, sitting next to her on a bench in the biggest wizarding library in Europe, his hand in her jeans; his movements, now more determined; his kisses, leaving their mark; the sensation of his finger now flicking her sensitive nub with more fervour than before; the fact that at any given moment, anyone could barge in on their inappropriate display of intimacy …

The forbidden thought pushed Hermione over the edge. She tried to stifle an audible rendering of her release, moaning only quietly against his lips. She was trembling and felt Draco move away from her face ever so slightly, being very aware that he was watching her closely – watching her unravel upon his touch.

When she opened her eyes, they were met with whirling pools of silver. She watched as he licked the very finger which had only moments ago made her come the lewdest and most beautiful way possible.

'I can't wait till I can taste you properly,' he said hoarsely, and Hermione cupped his cheeks, trying to put everything she felt into the kiss she then gave him.

They went out for dinner a couple of hours later, but she only had a light salad. Mainly, for two reasons: she wasn't particularly hungry, but first and foremost, she knew herself well enough to know that a full stomach wouldn't be beneficial to any imaginable activity that the night might have in store.

Hermione felt anxious and excited at once. She shouldn't be nervous; it was just sex. Then again, it was sex with Draco Malfoy; a boy she had seen grow up, surrounded and tainted and suffocated by monsters of all kinds. And yet, she knew little about the man he was now.

'Where are you staying?' asked Draco, ostensibly casually. He didn't seem to worry about his steak and chips affecting _his_ stamina.

 _Men_. If Hermione's inner voice had a matching face, it would have rolled its eyes.

'I found this little guesthouse,' she replied. 'My hosts are an elderly couple, very sweet. She's a Muggle; he's a wizard. They have a few bedrooms, and I can have breakfast in their kitchen.'

'Sounds intimate.'

'Personal puts it better, I'd say. It's nice having someone enquire about your day.'

'Yeah, that would be nice, wouldn't it?' Draco gave her a lopsided smile.

'Yeah …'

They stared at each other then, quietly, until both lowered their gaze, knowing they had just considered the exact same thing. Hermione had to be honest with herself: she had, no matter how briefly, thought about how life would be with Draco in it – permanently. Too soon? Did it even matter? As of next month, she'd be slowly but surely pushing 30, after all. Her friends were all having children, and she wasn't getting any younger.

'So … I assume you're staying somewhere less _intimate_?' asked Hermione eventually while trying to impale a truculent cherry tomato with her fork.

Draco hummed affirmatively. 'Just in one of those Muggle hotels. They really know their hospitality.'

Hermione knew exactly why he had enquired about her accommodation; maybe it was time for her to be the bold and suggestive one. She'd got a taste earlier – now she wanted more.

'Perhaps we should retire to your room then,' she said. 'Although a Silencing Charm would make do, too, of course.'

Hermione couldn't help but smirk at the way he sheepishly averted his gaze.

'Oh, Draco,' she said in an imitation of what he had said earlier, 'we're both adults. You seemed to be quite sure of that a few hours ago.'

'Shut up, Granger,' he muttered, but he, too, couldn't fight a smirk.

'That's not a very nice thing to say to a lady,' she said in her poshest voice, laying her hand onto her chest in mock offence.

'A lady who has just invited herself to my hotel room.'

'Yeah, well'– and gone was the plum in her mouth –'you started it.'

'I did, didn't I?'

Needless to say, they finished their meal in no time.

'Do you want pudding?' asked Draco, although he seemed quite fidgety, what with tapping his foot as though battering an invisible drum kit. Hermione decided it wouldn't hurt to play a little.

'Yes,' she said.

'Alright.' He craned his neck, looking for a waiter to wave over.

'Not that kind,' she added, never averting her gaze. In that moment, Draco's face was host to several expressions at once: comprehension, indignation, and excitement.

'You're in for it, Granger.'

'I sincerely hope so.'

Needless to say, they paid and left in no time.

She normally would have appreciated the luxury that was Draco Malfoy's current accommodations – if it hadn't been for his mouth occupying hers. Their kiss was hungry, passionate. Just like everything else which followed.

Stumbling into the room and feeling his arousal pressed against her jeans, Hermione grinned wickedly to herself. His erection and the pooling heat below her navel goaded her on, giving out confidence she hardly knew she had.

Predictable.

 _I'll give you predictable._

She caught him by surprise, taking the wheel and walking him towards the bed until his knees couldn't help but bend, causing him to fall backwards onto the mattress. Hermione climbed on top of him and resumed the kiss, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

'I should have known you'd be bossy,' he said.

'Shut up, Malfoy,' she smirked while undoing the final button.

'I'm not complaining.'

Godric help her, he was gorgeous – despite, or perhaps all the more because of the many thin, white scars running all over his torso. Hermione took her time, allowing her hands to discover his toned body while her mouth soon joined in their mission. As she trailed kisses from his chest to the taut muscles of his abdomen, Draco buried his hands in her hair, pulling ever so slightly as to – Hermione was certain – channel his appreciation and desire.

Hermione reached the narrow trail below his navel, her breath ghosting across it until halting just atop the hem of his trousers. She heard a sharp intake of breath when she palmed the bulge farther down and dared to level her gaze, instantly locking eyes with him.

If they hadn't been naturally bright and cool, Hermione could have sworn his eyes were ablaze.

Draco pushed himself up and lifted her face to meet his. She straddled his lap, grinding her hips and eliciting a guttural sound of approval. They broke their kiss only to get rid of her top, but when Hermione went to peel off his shirt entirely, he held her arms in place.

'What?' she panted.

'Just … it's still there.'

Hermione knew at once what "it" was. And she couldn't care less.

'We both have scars,' she said simply. 'They don't matter anymore.'

Draco looked at her intently before letting go and allowing her to undress him. His eyes darted down, and she knew he was looking at her forearm, where a faded slur still told the story of a war long since passed.

She couldn't help but look at him in return – the Dark Mark was no longer black. It had faded into nothing more than seared and scarred flesh, although the traces were still visible, especially if you knew what you were looking for.

A cool breeze around her breasts brought her attention back to the present. He had unclasped her bra and was now staring at her rising and falling chest.

All of a sudden, Hermione felt a long lost shortcoming resurface, meekly muttering, 'They're not very big –'

'Shut up, Granger, they're perfect.' And with that, he enclosed one of her hardened, pink buds with his mouth, inducing a sultry moan and letting her forget all about the short-lived streak of inadequacy. He sucked and licked and blew on it, his hand that wasn't occupied with grabbing her arse cheeks shortly finding its way to the heretofore neglected other nipple. She could tell that he enjoyed himself immensely; trying different things as to gauge her reaction until eventually resorting to what she liked the most (the indicator being the intensity of her moans and pleadings).

'I want to feel you,' she eventually breathed against his perfectly smelling platinum hair, and Draco planted a kiss onto her breast as if to say goodbye. He then took her gently by the arms and turned her around until she lay on the duvet, crawling on top of her and brandishing his wand; with a flick, the rest of their clothes vanished.

She wanted to say something witty about that, but Hermione was too lost in the moment to make any comment whatsoever. All previous banter was forgotten, and neither she nor Draco said another word. He ran his palm across her chest and stomach, Hermione arching her back to show him that she was ready.

Her breath hitched when he moved lower to trail fiery kisses onto her inner thighs, which she parted for him, and Hermione remembered what he had said earlier: _"I can't wait till I can taste you properly"._

The way he licked all across her wet slit moments later – with much relish – made Hermione's skin crawl.

When she had thought earlier that the feel of his fingers was intense, it was nothing compared to what he did with his tongue. She knew that, hadn't she reached orgasm a few hours prior, she would have come within seconds.

Hermione gave a sultry moan as he artistically lapped against her, varying in tempo to keep her on edge. He circled her clit, sometimes brushing it as if by accident, then going back to running the tip of his tongue around it.

'Draco, please …' Hermione whimpered, and after a bit more begging on her part, he complied, dedicating all of his attention to her most sensitive spot.

Hermione didn't know what to do with her hands. A part of her wanted to drag him back up so that they could snog, another part wanted him never to stop doing what he was doing in that moment. Ultimately, she reached for his hair, hoping he would understand her silent pleading.

Draco opened his eyes and looked at her with a grin playing across his features before he slipped first one, then two fingers inside her, all the while never ceasing to lick her senseless.

'Oh _God_ , Draco.' More outbursts of excitement and affection escaped her mouth, feeling overwhelmed with the sensation of his rough tongue and the way his fingers skilfully pumped in and out of her, massaging the bundle of nerves on the inside, the combination of it all bringing her closer and closer to her second release of the day.

Yet Draco decided otherwise.

Just before she would've reached that notorious point of no return, he stopped, only to push himself up and without so much of a warning, burying himself inside her. Now it was he who wasn't able to stifle a groan. He composed himself quickly, though – reaching down to work her clit again. Hermione covered his mouth with a sultry kiss as her walls clenched, wave after wave of pleasure cascading through her, coming around and moaning against him, tasting herself on his breath.

She opened her eyes and looked right into his grey orbs, glazed over with the very passion she, too, was drowning in. Hermione snaked her arms around his neck and began to roll her hips, encouraging him to move. She felt his hot breath against her neck when he lowered his face, the way he smelt at that moment burning itself into Hermione's memory forever.

He filled her up to the hilt, and Hermione couldn't remember if she had ever felt this complete before. Draco moved only slowly, sometimes pausing entirely, lingering in the same position for a moment before resuming his rhythm; Hermione knowing that her post-orgasmic tightness made it incredibly intensive and thus immensely difficult for him.

'Turn around,' she whispered, and Draco helped along as she rolled on top of him, straddling him again. She ground her hips carefully, seeing as she wanted him to enjoy their first time just as much as she did.

His hands wandered up to her breasts, Hermione closing her eyes and moaning softly when he began rubbing both of her hardened nipples at once.

'You like that, don't you?' he teased, and Hermione's eyes fluttered back open. She bit her lip and nodded, realising that she especially liked his pointing it out.

Not knowing whether it would be rewarding or torturous, she moved her hips upwards, allowing his cock to slide out of her, but stopping right before he would have left her hot centre completely, sitting back down before repeating the process. Slowly.

'Merlin, Hermione …' he groaned, and she noticed with satisfaction that he tried to gain control and fuck her from beneath.

'Oh no, Draco,' she smirked, bending forward and brushing her lips against his. 'Let me.'

She kept rolling her hips at a painful pace all the while, trailing kisses along his jawline until she reached the sensitive skin below his ear.

'Do you want me to make you come?' she whispered, and she could feel him shiver. 'Do you?'

And he nodded. Hermione grinned devilishly into his hair, feeling empowered beyond imagination. She picked up the pace and was soon not just riding, but outright shagging him, smacking her hips against his, faster and faster, until …

He clung to her thighs and breathed her name before she felt his hot release spill inside her, Hermione slowing down her movements as to ease him out of his orgasm. She lifted herself up to face him again, looking completely and utterly satisfied.

Hermione knew then that she wanted more. Way more than just a one-time shag in his hotel room.

'I could get used this,' he said softly, as if he had just read her mind.

'So could I.'

And she kissed him affectionately, hoping that they were both talking about the same thing.


	3. A Lover

'What do you want to eat tonight?' asked Hermione. They were both in the library; Draco sat on the table in front of her, reading a book titled _The Shakespeare Conspiracy: What Muggles Wished They Knew_. It was strange how going out with Draco each night of her stay felt like the most natural thing in the world now. She was trying not to think about their little holiday coming to an end very soon.

'You're not supposed to eat before you swim,' he said nebulously while turning the page of his book. Hermione only shot him a confused look which – of course – he didn't see. When she remained silent, he added, 'That is should you fancy a swim. Dinner after?'

'Oh, um … sure, why not? But I didn't bring a swimsuit.'

Draco met her gaze, the slightest semblance of a smirk flashing over his face. 'Don't worry, you won't need one.'

'Oh.'

He laughed then, at – Hermione assumed – her dumbstruck expression. She cleared her throat in trying to compose herself.

'Where would we go that doesn't require swimwear?'

'Bath,' replied Draco curtly, once again attending to the book in his lap.

'Bath?' echoed Hermione. ' _A_ bath? Or _the_ Bath?'

'The latter. Have you ever been?'

'Yes, but – that was ages ago. My parents took me when I was a child, but I don't remember it well enough to Apparate.'

'Well,' said the blond, shutting the book and sliding off the table, 'we're lucky there's such a thing as Side-Along Apparition then.'

'Right, you play football there,' said Hermione, 'I almost forgot. So'– she closed the issue of _Muggle Technology Today_ (the headline reading "The Internet: Why we should work with and not against it") and walked up next to Draco –'this might be a stupid question, but why England? Why not here? I heard there's a nice thermal bath nearby.'

'I have my reasons,' he smirked. 'Let's just say I know a gold mine when I see one.'

They collected their wands at the reception and left the library, Draco extending his arm to her once they'd made sure no Muggles were watching.

As soon as Hermione touched his sleeve, she felt the familiar tug behind her navel. Moments later, the blackness spit them both out, and they found themselves standing in a desolate alley, a light rain drizzling down on them – talk about summer in Britain. Draco led the way, walking them over the slippery cobblestone pavement, Hermione snaking an arm through his.

'And this,' he announced after they had turned around a corner, 'is why we're here. May I present to you: the brand new Thermae Bath Spa. Courtesy of … well, me. Sort of.'

Hermione could tell her eyes were growing wide as saucers, staring at the entrance of said spa.

'What do you mean,' she bubbled, 'is this _yours_?'

'In parts, yes. As soon as I heard of the plans to renovate and reopen it, I wanted in. Look at this place; it's grand! Muggles will love it, I'm telling you.'

' _Will_ love it?'

'Ah, we come to the best part at last,' sighed Draco. 'It won't open for another week. It's all ours for now.'

'No way,' breathed Hermione, excitement welling up inside her. An entire spa to themselves? This holiday was turning out to be the best she'd ever had.

 _Please, it's already been for days, and you know it._

'But – do they _know_ , you know, that you –'

'Of course not. Not that it really matters as long as there's money involved. Let's go inside, shall we?'

Hermione resisted to jump up and down as she followed Draco to the staff entrance. He rang the bell and moments later, a podgy man in his mid-forties appeared. He recognised Draco at once, opening the door for them.

'Mr Malfoy, what a pleasant surprise,' greeted the Muggle. 'Please, come in. May I ask what brings you here tonight?'

'Good evening, Mr Warren,' said Draco. 'I thought I'd stop by one last time before the grand opening. This is Hermione Granger'– they exchanged quick pleasantries –'She writes for an up-and-coming travel guide. I thought it'd be a great opportunity to create additional publicity. If we could … spend some actual time in the bath – you know, as guests, for an authentic experience?'

'But of course – what a fantastic idea!' said the Muggle excitedly. 'I will leave the facilities to you. I'll be here until – oh who am I kidding, it'll be bloody late as always, pardon the language. There's still so much to prepare … anyway, I hope you'll enjoy the spa! You can find robes, slippers, and towels just around the corner. And there's swimwear in the shop, at your disposal. Just call me if you need anything.'

'See, I told you you wouldn't need a swimsuit,' whispered Draco as soon as Mr Warren was out of earshot. 'Or could it be you thought I meant something different?'

Hermione pressed her lips together tightly, only a trifle embarrassed. She decided ignoring him this once was for the better and headed straight for the small shop where she picked out a navy blue halter one-piece with white polka dots.

'Lovely choice,' said Draco, reaching for a pair of simple black shorts. Pointing towards the lifts, he added, 'I'll meet you over there in a minute.'

The spa was utterly magnificent. Draco showed her around; from the Minerva bath to the wellness suite – which had differently scented steam rooms – to the restaurant and the balcony, and finally, to the rooftop pool.

Hermione mouthed a "wow" in awe of what lay before her eyes; the view up there was absolutely stunning. They could see the Abbey, the beautiful Georgian architecture, other churches Hermione didn't remember the names of, and of course the rolling hills enveloping the city, which sat right in its midst.

'I hope I didn't promise too much,' said Draco. He came up behind her, brushing aside her hair and gently nuzzling her neck.

'Hmm … this is perfect.'

She stepped closer to the pool, turning around and suddenly plunging in backwards, but not before grabbing Draco's arm and pulling him along with her.

The puzzled expression on his face made her burst with laughter.

'Can you _read_ , Granger?' he huffed, which only made Hermione laugh harder. 'It says no jumping in.' He pointed at a sign next to the lifts they had used to reach the top level.

'Since when do you care about rules?' she sniggered.

'Right … you're clearly a bad influence on me – or was it the other way round?'

Hermione took one stroke towards him and cupped his cheeks, kissing him gently. It was still raining, the cool drops mingling with the perfectly tempered water surrounding them and running down their necks.

'I can't believe today is the last,' she said as soon as they had broken the kiss.

'Just the last day of your holiday. About that'– he rubbed his neck –'I might have crossed your plans for recreation a bit, sorry.'

'Don't be ridiculous. This couldn't have gone any better.'

'So … do you want to keep doing this?' he asked, Hermione detecting a hint of uncertainty in his voice. He really should know better.

'Of course, stupid,' she said, and Draco did indeed breathe a sigh of relief.

'You're not worried about the reactions then?'

'Not in the least,' said Hermione, swimming towards the pool's edge. 'It's been so long since … back then. I'm sure no one will actually mind. And even if they did … it wouldn't change the way I feel about you.'

'Feel about me?' he iterated hoarsely, clearing his throat.

Hermione rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue importantly. 'You know, I spent every day of my trip with you because I don't fancy you at all.'

'10 points for the sarcasm,' he said, kissing her. After a little more snogging, he added, 'D'you know what would make this last night really memorable?'

'Why do I get the feeling it'll involve these?' She pointed at the whirlpool nozzles on the underwater bench next to them.

'Seems like you can read my mind after all,' he smirked.

Just in that moment, the nozzles started up, and bubbles began rising to the surface. Hermione, having always loved whirlpools, sat down on the bench immediately, Draco soon joining her.

'This feels _so_ good,' she said, closing her eyes and relishing the soft massage.

'Still, nothing compared to the prefects' bathroom.'

Hermione opened her eyes ever so slightly and peeked at him sideways, saying, 'I always forget you were a prefect, too.'

'How could you forget?' he asked sincerely. 'I – um – well. Let's just say I exhausted all possibilities.'

'Right … you withdrew quite a lot of points, if I remember correctly,' said Hermione, shutting her eyes again. 'With a certain proclivity for Gryffindors.'

'Yeah … not my most glorious days, were they?'

'Not your worst, either,' said Hermione absentmindedly, instantly regretting it. For a moment, she thought she had stepped over a line, fearing the worst – Draco getting cross with her and leaving. 'Sorry,' she added hastily, turning towards him, but Draco only shook his head and shot her a weak smile.

'Well, you're right, aren't you? I can hardly say anything against that. And it's okay, really. It's been a long time now, and I have made my peace with it.'

For some reason Hermione couldn't quite place, she answered by merely kissing him with a newfound intensity – a bittersweetness that wasn't there before. It only made her heart pound more heavily. Amazing, really, the effects time could have on a person, without actually changing their core, but pushing them forward, making them not different, but only a better version of themselves.

So what about her – how much had she evolved? Could her 19-, 22-, or 25-year-old self have been with Draco? Hermione didn't have an answer. She only knew that, regardless of how disappointing or painful her previous relationships had eventually turned out to be, they'd been there for a reason – even if it was just to prepare her for the time when it actually counted.

And this – this most marvellous of holidays with a lover most unprecedented – definitely counted for much.

* * *

'It's my turn, don't you think?' said Hermione, as she watched the sun disappear behind the rooftops. They were clad in their bathrobes, sipping cocktails on the spa's balcony.

'Again? You are more insatiable than I thought,' snorted Draco, and Hermione sniggered.

'I wasn't talking about _that_ – although … no, let's save that for later. I meant something else.'

'Then I'm afraid, you will have to elaborate.'

Hermione set her drink aside and turned towards him. 'You've taken me so many places now, and I think it's time I took _you_ somewhere for a change,' she answered.

'Where would you like to go?' asked Draco.

'Oh, as if I am telling you! Just … let me think …' Her gaze was vacant as she pondered about the places she had already seen, and which one of them would be an option.

'Got one,' she said after a while. 'We might want to get dressed. But leave your shoes off.'

'No shoes? Alright.' He emptied his glass and put it on the table between them. 'Let's get going then.'

Draco hauled himself out of his lounger and stood, Hermione casting one last look at the sunset before following him inside.

'Mr Warren will expect a full review now, thought you should know that,' said Draco, as soon as they met in the entrance area again. 'Unless of course, I tweak his memory a bit …'

'No!' Hermione swatted gently at his arm. 'Not unless there is a proper reason for it. Besides, we would have to get permission from the Ministry.'

'And there goes my bad influence, but fine – your choice, your consequences,' he said with a shrug. 'Now, where are we going?'

Hermione held out her arm. 'You'll see.'

As soon as he touched her, she pivoted on the spot, moments later landing atop a sand embankment. It was one of many, making the scenery look like a small patch of desert, encircled by gum and tea trees, and various shrubbery. The sun was already coming up, its rays poking through the treetops.

'Where are we?'

'Moreton Island,' Hermione replied, burying her feet in the cold, incredibly fine sand. 'Australia. And we're just in time for the sunrise.'

'To be honest, I wouldn't have pegged you for a hopeless romantic,' teased Draco. He wound an arm around her shoulder; it was quite chilly, and Hermione appreciated the gesture.

'Says the one who took me to bathe underneath the setting sun.'

'Point taken.' And he kissed her temples, lingering there. 'You smell nice.'

Hermione giggled. 'Thank you. It's just the shampoo and the fresh air out here I suppose.'

'Just take the compliment, Granger.'

She looked up at him and mirrored his smirk.

'Why have you chosen this place?' asked Draco. 'Don't get me wrong – it's brilliant.'

'After the war, I went to Australia to restore my parents' memories, and we ended up adding a bit of holiday time, just the three of us. We went here for a camping trip, and I remembered this place. It's gorgeous, isn't it? Like a miniature desert. And if you listen carefully, you can hear the waves crashing …' She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the water. After a while, she continued, 'This is the third largest sand-island in the world, by the way. Fraser Island being the largest, and Stradbroke Island placing second.'

'Ever the walking encyclopaedia,' he chuckled. 'Whatever the facts, I think this is as good a place as any.'

'For what?'

Draco turned towards her. 'To give you this.'

He rummaged in his pocket, and Hermione half expected a jewellery box, scolding herself immediately for the foolish and very girlish thought.

What he gave her then exceeded all silly expectations.

'This is a library pass,' she breathed, holding in her hand a small booklet with the library's crest etched into the leather binding.

'Open it.'

'Lifetime premium membership,' she read, 'Hermione Jean Granger – you know my middle name? Access all areas … unlimited borrowing rights … Draco, this is wonderful!' She clutched the pass to her chest and kissed him. 'But,' she added, 'how much did you –'

'Don't worry about it. Really. If it makes you happy, I will gladly spend all of my gold on you. Not that I'm trying to buy –'

'If you were trying to buy my affection, you wouldn't have put so much effort into all of this,' she said softly. 'I still can't believe you were sneaking into my life for a _year_.'

They remained silent for a while, until he said, 'You know … I like you. A lot.'

'I figured as much,' said Hermione, pressing her lips together.

'Why does it look like you're trying not to laugh at me?' He raised an eyebrow, which brought out his aristocratic features, making Hermione's mouth dry.

'It's just – you're so sure about yourself most of the time, but in moments like these you have the confidence of a first year before Sorting.'

'That doesn't make any sense – _I_ was _very_ confident.'

'Oh, stop being so meticulous.' She snuggled closer. 'You know what I meant.'

'Yeah …'

They sat down to watch the sun rise for a while, arm in arm, a Warming Charm around them (it was winter after all) and a salty breeze tousling their hair.

'I want to stay here forever,' whispered Hermione.

'Maybe if we had some dinner, we could stay at least a little while longer,' said Draco, his stomach grumbling suspiciously. 'Pardon, I meant breakfast.'

Hermione laughed softly. 'You're lucky I'm well prepared then,' she said, pulling out her handbag. 'I always carry round one of Barnaby Bramble's Ready-to-Eat, Expendable and Nonperishable Picnic Kits. You know, just in case I have to feed the hungry.'

'You are one amazing witch, Hermione Granger,' said Draco, grinning broadly, and Hermione knew in that moment that she was falling for him already. Perhaps she had been for quite a while.

'Draco?'

'Yes?'

She buried her face in his jumper and inhaled his scent; it already felt like home.

'I like you a lot, too.'

 **The End.**

* * *

 **A/N: Well, kind of the end. Hello there! So, a reader asked me for a HEA-Draco-and-Hermione-get-married-and-have-kids-epilogue today. An epilogue for a story with less than 10k words? Not really necessary, but what kind of Hufflepuff am I if I can't meet my readers' wishes? This is what I came up with; more of an appendix than a proper epilogue, but sod it! The names are very creative, I know. Had to wing it, after all. (Robert is Hermione's father's name in _Faceless_ , and I imagine she's a Jane Austen fan. So yeah.)**

Draco and Hermione return to London together and continue dating. They spend much of their time in her bookshop, with loads of tea and scones. Hermione's parents grow fond of Draco very quickly, and even though Harry and Ron go through an inital shock at first, they agree to leave the past in the past and slowly but surely befriend Draco; Dean definitely helps with that, as they begin playing football together on a regular basis – Harry, agile and quick, is a fantastic left-wing. Ron struggles with kicking a ball incisively, but turns out to be – who would have thought – a brilliant goalkeeper. A Muggle woman named Charlotte apparently thinks he's a keeper, too (Arthur is incredibly excited about his son being with a Muggle and sheds a tear or two at their wedding a few years down the road). Occasionally, the unlikely group of friends plus Ginny and George (and sometimes Charlie) play Quidditch together in the Weasleys' orchard, which makes Hermione immensely happy. She prefers knitting and chatting with Charlotte, though, while watching the children. Ginny only reluctantly joins them when she becomes pregnant for the third time.

As Lucius is in Azkaban, he doesn't have a say in anything. Narcissa is delighted to have Hermione as her daughter-in-law-to-be, her first reaction upon meeting her being: "Finally, I thought he'd never ask you out."

It takes the two a little over a year to move in together, buying a cosy cottage in Wiltshire, neither of them worrying about committing too fast, because who cares anyway, it's what they want. They get married three years later, and it doesn't take long for Hermione to get pregnant after that. In 2011, Lyra Jane is born. Two years after, Robert Scorpius follows. He later asks to be called by his second name because he thinks it's cool. (This might have to do with the Potters' youngest son encouraging him to do so because " _you_ at least have a choice between a regular, boring name, and a cool one, not two stupid ones. So pick the cool one!")

Draco and Hermione have a solid, loving and caring relationship. Every year, they return to one of the places they had visited when they first started going out (Moreton Island actually being the place where Draco ultimately proposes, like Hermione once thought he would). Although they are not spared from crises, like any other couple, they grow stronger because of them and live a happy life together, being good partners for each other and even better parents for their children. Oh, and of course, both stay in marvellous shape, as they agree it's important they stay healthy and active – if you know what I mean.

Sex. I meant sex. They're having lots.

 **The End. For real.**


End file.
